Through All of Time
by Kelsid
Summary: Follow Aziraphale and Crowley as they meet up with Moses, George Washington and fight in World War II. Watch them star alongside Marlon Brando, model for Michelanglo, and finally realize what it means to be friends.
1. Prologue

PROLOGUE

"It's quite lovely down here, isn't it?"

"Mm hm." Crawly languidly stretched out his long body, enjoying the heat. Lying on the dirt all the time wasn't as bad as he had originally thought.

Aziraphale nodded slightly, rustling his handsome white wings. Crawly was actually a tad jealous of them, but had said nothing so far. It wasn't a very Crawly-like thing to do.

Aziraphale gave a short cough. "So," he said awkwardly.

Crawley didn't respond.

"How's Hell been?"

Giving a non-committed shrug (or as close to a shrug as a snake could get), Crawly muttered an "eh".

"You fell around… three thousand years ago?"

"Eh."

"I'm sorry. I don't remember you too well. There were a whole lot of angels up There, then. Seems a little thinned out now…"

_Of course. Did you think demons appeared out of thin air?_ thought Crawly, but his thoughts didn't have the biting venom they usually did. Eden was quite relaxing.

"Yes. Well…" Aziraphale began to fiddle about with his flaming sword, letting the flame dip dangerously close to the lush, green grass below his pale feet. "I suppose we're going to be down here a long while, then?"

"Mm."

"A very, very long time…" he said softly, looking up to the crystal-blue skies. Crawley wasn't listening. He had already fallen asleep in the heat of midday.

-

His belly had been scraped the rough bark, but he didn't mind. In fact, he hardly even noticed. Right now, he was concentrating on those wide-open eyes, the mouth that hung slightly open, waiting to savor the sweet juices of the fruit on the Forbidden Tree.

"It'ssssss delicioussss," he hissed, winding his lithe self around branches and through the foliage. She licked her lips while Crawly gave a small smile to himself. He'd been tempting her for a while now, mostly out of sheer boredom. This was the closest she'd ever gotten to actually eating it, though, and Crawly was quite enjoying watching her look so confused.

Then, surprisingly, she took it. If Crawly could blink, he would have. It wasn't though he'd been planning her to actually_ eat_ it. But that's exactly what she did. The sweet juice streamed down her chin as she cleanly and meticulously bit into the soft flesh.

_Oops, _thought Crawly, and he quickly slithered away.

-

It was quite strange. The angel didn't seem particularly upset that he, Crawly, the demon-snake, had gotten Adam and Eve booted rather unceremoniously out of Eden. As a matter of fact, Aziraphale just kept blabbering on and on. Crawly might have talked back on the day the only humans packed up (out of sheer madness; he hadn't been feeling very well then) but since then, he'd remained silent. Well, mostly silent. He didn't mind a little company now and then. As a matter of fact, the two were just sitting in Eden. They'd been sitting there for around two weeks. Just sitting.

"So." Aziraphale interlaced his fingers. He'd been feeling rather restless with his hands since he'd… misplaced… the flaming sword.

Crawly remained still, looking at the tree he'd been looking at for the past three days. It wasn't a very interesting tree, even at the first look.

"I should stop by and say hello to Eve. And Adam, I suppose. But really Eve. I just felt bad what with the whole 'Forbidden fruit' thing. You know, the pain-in-childbirth punishment. Really a pity." He shot an intense look at Crawly, who still was staring at the tree. Right now, a bug was slowly making its way up the trunk. It didn't look very… well, anything, really.

"Well." The angel stood up, brushing his wide-spread wings across the numerous trees. Crawly looked over in pure jealousy. Why couldn't the angel have been put on earth as a snake, and he got to be in his regular form? "I'd best be getting off, then."

"Wait, what?"

"I'm going to take a stop by Adam and Eve's. See how things are going."

"Oh. Yeah," said Crawly, disconcerted. "Bye then. I'll see you around."

A look of concern flitted around Aziraphale's face. "Would you like to come with? Company is always excellent."

"Nah. They probably wouldn't be too thrilled to see me. Go ahead."

He was so tempted. Yes, he was tempted to go with Aziraphale. But he was an angel, and Crawly was… well, he was the opposite.

The angel's clear grey eyes were unusually soft as he turned around one last time. "I could use the company…"

"Fine," Crawly muttered, slithering up his back. "You don't need keep pushing it."


	2. Ancient Egypt

CHAPTER ONE

"So I… I… what I was saying, again?" Crawly reached across the table, grasping the second bottle of Egyptian wine. It was quite delicious, actually. He'd heard good things about Egypt when he was living in Mesopotamia, and this certainly didn't contradict the rumors. It was turning out to be the best of his moves.

Aziraphale swished a fan back and forth, trying to ease the dryness and heat of the day. It wasn't working too well.

"Something about the scribes, I think?"

"Oh yeah. It's gotta be a he- one hard job. Memorizing all those little squiggly things." Crawly wiggled his fingers, as if trying to do an impression of the hieroglyphics. Aziraphale just stared in confusion.

"You know, those hyro…. Hydro…"

"Hieroglyphics."

"Yeah. Those. One bloody mess, that is." Crawly took another swig of wine. "No one's going to know how to read them after it dies out."

"And what makes you think the Egyptian language will die out?" said Aziraphale, rather affronted. He oversaw all the scribes in the palace, you see. Some even argue that he was a scribe himself, but no one ever managed to catch him writing.

Crawly rolled his eyes. "Because everything dies out," he said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "It's not like… it's not like… take… oh, I don't know. You can kill non-living things though. Like a language."

"Of course you can kill non-living things. They're not living in the first place," argued Aziraphale, tipping the bottle of wine into his twice-emptied cup.

"Well. Yeah, but-" His eyes were going slightly cross-eyed when a tall figure approached the table. "Hey, Moses. Take a sit-down, will you?" He rather liked Moses, which was a kind of weird for Crawly.

The man obliged, taking a cup that appeared to have come out of thin air. Luckily, he didn't notice as he poured himself a moderate portion.

"Still wearing those… shading devices?" Moses waved a vague hand, looking straight at Crawly's shades. Crawly smiled, which ended up looking surprisingly serpentine.

"You'll see these around later. Trust me."

Moses shrugged. "Whatever you say, Crawly. And how are you, Rifel?"

"Just fine, thank you." Aziraphale adjusted his robe and cast a blinding grin at the prince. He had a rather soft spot for Moses. He was always hinting to Crawly about how Moses would do something important for "his side." Crawly really hated him at times like this (not that he particularly liked him at other times, of course), so he'd hint back that Moses was an incarnation of the Devil. Aziraphale would just give a smug smile. Angels.

"So, what were we saying?"

"Something about the death of non-living things," muttered Aziraphale, rolling his clear grey eyes. "It is an utterly ridiculous conversation, Moses. I would advise drinking this elsewhere." Rather unsteadily, he stood up.

"I don't mind. I haven't seen Crawly in a while now. It might be a good time to catch up on some things." For a moment, Crawly saw something flicker in Moses' dark brown eyes, but it soon disappeared. He shrugged it off and reached for another glass. It was probably just the alcohol.

"Well, then." Aziraphale appeared a bit disgruntled. "I'll get going. Leave you two to your philosophic talks." With as much dignity as he could manage, the older man left the room, still swaying slightly.

Crawly laughed as the angel parted, sloshing the wine over Moses' spotless white tunic. "Oh. Sorry."

"Not a problem." Moses looked down on his clothes with a slightest bit of interest before turning back to Crawly. "So, you were talking about death?"

"Of non-living things," corrected Crawly. "A concept that Rifel didn't understand too well." _And probably one of the few ideas he would even refuse to contemplate…_

He allowed himself a snigger before turning to Moses, who was looking at his wine with utmost concentration. It was quite strange, actually. Moses was always the fun guy, the joker. Today, he seemed serious, even… morose.

"You're friends with him, right?" asked Moses, turning the golden goblet to catch the light.

"Well, not really," Crawly said, taken aback. "He just happens to be there, you know? I can't really avoid him. I mean, I've known him my whole life. But we're not friends, per se."

"But… he's your friend. He's righteous, he's… well, you're closer to him than… say your family."

Crawly looked wildly around. If Aziraphale happened to be around, this would be ten times more awkward. "Uh… Well, I guess… I never really had a…"

The goblet went down with a clatter. "Who do you side with? Your spiritual counterpart, the one you know is doing right? Or do you go with your family, the people who have put you down and lied to you?"

What kind of situation had he gotten himself into? Crawly glanced furtively around. Finally, he said weakly, "It's getting a bit warm in here, isn't it?"

"I want your answer, Crawly. You're one of the few people I actually trust here. I know that your opinions are… are true! And right! You've… you've got to help me." Moses' eyebrows rose in a splendid display of distress and sorrow, his eyes looking more solemn then they ever had before.

Aha! Finally, his moment had come! Finally, he could teach that angel a lesson. He was going to prove to Aziraphale once and for all that Moses was not siding with Heaven. Not in the least.

"Go with your friend," he said confidently. God was all for family, right? "I mean, screw your family. So what if they raised you and taught you everything? Go with the people you've just met- well, comparatively to your family anyway."

Moses bit his lip. "Now that you put it like that, maybe I should-" he started to wheedle, but Crawly cut him short.

"Moses." He set a hand on the man's shoulder. Moses flinched. "I promise. This is the right way to go. When have I ever led you astray?"

Suddenly images flashed through his mind of countless pranks and endless punishments, the only common link between them all one little boy and a mischievous looking official with dark sunglasses. Hmm. Maybe that wasn't such a good question to ask.

"Just do as I say, Moses. It'll be fine."

Heaving a sigh, Moses rose. "You're right, Crawly." He gave a weak smile. "Well, let's hope you are at any rate."

"Oh, you're doing the right thing. Trust me." And Crawly let loose a blinding grin. It wouldn't disappear until after he talked to the angel, who promptly laughed in his face about Crawly's idea of success.

How did he know that was going to lead to the exodus of the Jews? Well, at least he didn't get credit for it.

He rather hated Moses.


	3. Ancient Greece

It had been a thousand years and one thousand miles, but Crawly had still not forgotten about the Moses debacle. Even remembering it made him cringe in embarrassment. It was bad enough that Moses ended up doing exactly what Aziraphale told him he would, but that Crawly actually aided Moses in making this decision? It was all too much for a demon to handle.

Crawly reached for the wine at hand. He changed his mind about the Egyptian wine; Greek was much better. After all, they had Dionysus on their side.

Aziraphale, instead of holding out his glass, stared out into the streets, looking vaguely disconcerted.

"Come on, have some wine angel! What's the fun in this if you're not going to drink yourself into oblivion as well?"

He didn't appear to hear, continuing to stare with his plump hands laying his toga-clad lap. Eventually, he gave a small cough. "You know, I… I think they're starting to get suspicious."

"Who?"

"Oh, you know." He gave an effusive wave of his hand. "Them."

"I'm still lost here."

"Above. Or Below for you, I suppose." Aziraphale suddenly reached out and downed a glassful of the wine, and after a few moments of sitting back in absolute blank-staring silence, immediately grasped for another.

"Well." Crowley sat, letting Aziraphale finish off the bottle. Poor guy deserved it. "I dunno. So far I've just been telling my people that I was keeping an eye out for you. You know. Preventing you from doing good deeds and all of that stuff."

"I believe my 'people' have a slightly different view. I don't think I've done any thwarting for about three hundred years…"

"Not true!" Crawly slapped the table with his uncoordinated hand. "Remember… remember when you did that thing?"

"If you mean when I stopped you from mauling that poor old man, he actually ended up burning down the local synagogue."

"Oh."

"Yes."

Apparently, the angel was still not quite drunk enough to deal with this and gestured for the servant to bring another. "This isn't good, Crawly," he said with all seriousness, and for once, Crawly couldn't disagree.

Shrugging, he pushed his glasses up his nose and sighed. "Well, we'll figure something out. I'm sure you can do something super-wonderful and anything about your whereabouts in concern with mine will be wiped off their map, okay?"

He didn't respond, but instead kept looking out to the bright blue sky, tendrils of clouds gently painted across the expanse. "I think I should probably go somewhere else," he said quietly.

Crowley almost dropped his glass. "What?"

"Well, it shouldn't matter so much to you anyway." Without fail, Aziraphale had already sobered himself up and was now fixing his already impeccable hair. "What did you say to me yesterday? Something like—"

"Yeah, that was stupid, I was a little—"

"'I don't really need your prissy company, you obsessive perfectionist?' I don't know, it was something like that."

"Uh."

"Well, I think I'll be on my way. Thank for you the wonderful one thousand four hundred years, but now I suppose I should be off. You know. Doing things for the betterment of mankind."

"Oh, come on!" This was hardly fair. Really. The angel was the one doing all of the annoying stuff anyway, and _he's_ the one walking out on _him_? Ridiculous. So absolutely ridiculous. "Are you still mad about that thing yesterday? You were acting stuck-up."

His back suddenly stiffened and his chin raised a few notches. "Was not."

"Ohhoho, yes you were! Seriously, is this what you're in a tiff over?"

"Not at all." Aziraphale's voice became quite cold, and out of nowhere, a bag and a fresh pair of sandals appeared on his white feet. "Heaven honestly is getting quite wary. And, more importantly…" He pushed his nose up to the air, his eyelids lowering in a strange affection of pomposity and hurt. "…I just realized that my place was perhaps somewhere else entirely."

He was. He really, really was. He was walking right down the road, not even looking back. And if Crawly didn't do anything, he was actually a little frightened that the angel might not be back. This whole situation should not be happening. He didn't even start this mess. The begging should be from Aziraphale, not him. But Aziraphale continued to walk on. Crawly looked around quickly, noticing only a few passerby on the street. Aww, why not?

"Hey! Blond boy!"

The angel pretended not to hear, but his steady tread slowed considerably.

"Yeah, I'm talking to you!"

As fast as he's ever seen Aziraphale move, the man's face was suddenly facing him and his finger pointed out accusatorily.

"Why on earth do you care so much about whether I stay, mm? You're the one who always gives me those snide comments! Why do you care if I stay or go?" The once pale, marble-like complexion of the angel had turned a light shade of pink, an anger that Crawly had never seen before shaking his cheeks like rain rippling through a lake. Did he really, honestly do that? The angel seriously took those crap things to _heart_? And for once, the demon was speechless.

"Well?" Aziraphale said after a while, as Crawly continued in his silence. Finally, he coughed.

"Um. I didn't really mean that, you know." He thought for a moment, trying to collect what exactly he was trying to say. In his head, it sounded much too soft, so he tried to twist it to sound as nasty as possible. "Yes, you're annoying sometimes. But you're… well, you're nice to have around. Sometimes. So."

Aziraphale stared. "That's it?" he asked incredulously.

Were his ears deceiving him? Did the angel really just say that? After he practically bared his soul, the little pudge-ball wants _more_? "Yeah. What else did you expect?"

"An apology, for starter's! And if you really want me around, why do you say all these horrible things in the first place?"

"Hey, you can ask and you can ask but you're never going to get an answer from me, all right? Just laying that one down to start. I don't even know why myself."

More and more passerby were crowding the streets, and one man with a white beard in particular was so intrigued by their conversation that he had begun climbing up Crawly's wall in order to hear his responses better.

He was getting desperate now. He wasn't even sure why he exactly wanted this affected, vain being still around, but at the moment, he honestly did. Despite all of his better judgment, he called down, "I'm sorry. Okay?"

Maybe his eyes went bad for a few moments, but he could have sworn he saw Aziraphale give a hint of a smile. "What?" the angel shouted.

Crawly glanced around. Besides the old man who was now hovering disconcertingly over his shoulder, there were about thirty people all engrossed fully in their argument. Dignity or a glorious life without that fat do-gooder…?

"I'm sorry!" he shouted back, and in spite of all the small titters of laughter hidden among the crowd, he felt as if he made the right choice. Or, as he preferred to call it, the wrong choice— after all, the right choice was only for the morally justified. All the rest just liked doing whatever the hell they wanted. With his official position in mind, Crawly preferred to call anything he did as wrong. It worked out better for him in the end.

"That's what I wanted to hear." Aziraphale primly strode back, brushing lint from his bag that could not have possibly accumulated in the last two minutes.

A harsh, wheezing sound filled Crawly's left ear, and he slowly faced the positively exuberant man behind him.

"You did not find the answer, but you learned about each other!" The man breathed in awe, and Crawly quickly wiped his bottom lip with his tongue.

"Um. Sure." He made a move for the stairs, but the old man caught him.

"This is revolutionary! You learn, but you do not have the answer! It is the process of getting to the answer that is the learning! Ah!" He started to clap his hands, but in the middle of his second clap, suddenly changed his mind and shot his hand through his thinning hair, gaping at his discovery. Crawly just stared.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Oh! Socrates. Socrates." He shook his hand with vigor, pumping the demon's thin arm with energy that the old man barely seemed able to possess. "Thank you, thank you! This is wonderful! So, so wonderful! You have saved my life!" Crawly stepped back when the man flopped to the ground, groveling at his feet. He wasn't entirely sure if this was real, or whether Aziraphale had planned this to punish him in some way.

And then, he had an idea.

"Actually, it's not me you should be talking to. It's this guy's idea." As Aziraphale slowly emerged, breathing heavily as he daintily made his way up the staircase, Crawly gestured towards the blond man, and Socrates went scuttling.

"Wha…?"

"You saved me! You have saved my work, my philosophy!" This time, the arms fully encircled his legs, and Aziraphale looked up at Crawly with a mixed expression of confusion, resentment, and gratefulness.

The demon leaned back in his chair, a smug smile spreading its way across his serpentine features. "Your people can't be too upset about this, can they?" he said, and Aziraphale looked as though he was going to leap over and kiss him.

In fact, he was well on his way over when Crawly was forced to put his hands in self-defense. "Hey, I said I still wanted you around, not that I want you sucking on my neck or anything," he muttered, but even Socrates could tell he wasn't _too_ horrendously upset.

"Yes. Quite right. But still, thank you." Aziraphale restrained himself, and instead focused his efforts on unlatching Socrates from his legs. "And just so you know, you're not so bad to be around either."

"Hey." Crawly put out his finger as a warning. "You're the problem in this partnership, all right?"

"Partnership?"

"Um. Yeah. Or whatever you want to call it. I meant something less familiar. I don't think the Greeks have the word for it."

"Ah."

"Yeah. So… want to finish up this wine?"

"Yes, I think I could manage that."


	4. Ancient Rome

Author's Note: Man, this is a long one! I'm sorry if the time jumps get a bit confusing; this will be the only chapter that needs them. Enjoy! And also, _reviews are appreciated_, otherwise I have no idea whether any of you guys actually like this or not, and reviews definitely help updates come faster.

What was it that made Rome the center of the world? Certainly not their thinkers (Aziraphale's notice), their culture (Crawly's), or their alcohol (both.) The definite conclusion was that Greek democracy and Spartan military led Rome to victory, that grab-bag of an Empire Yes, Rome was the best they'd had in a long, long time.

"Since Eden," Crawly said, and Aziraphale immediately went to argue before realizing that he actually agreed.

"I suppose."

"It's this democracy, I'm _telling _you!"

The angel wasn't exactly sure, but Crawly's continued insistence on this being the cause for the grandeur of Rome was starting to wear him thin. He liked to think it was their tolerance of other cultures, but that was just him.

"Well, it won't be for long," Aziraphale said conversationally, pulling the pair of them down the right wing of the Senate hall.

"What?"

"Have you noticed? Look around. The Senate is losing power every day. It's quite nice actually; they're not giving me quite so much work anymore."

It was quite surprising to see Crawly look so red.

"I don't believe you."

Aziraphale didn't feel good about delivering this news to Crowley. Not at all. Not in the slightest. He wasn't the tiniest, littlest bit pleased that he was destroying the demon's grand idea.

Oh, he was the worst angel that had ever strolled through Heaven.

"Come now, you work with Antony every day. You have to admit that Caesar is the one with the power now. The State is practically throwing Rome at his feet."

A clatter echoed through the marble hall, but Crawly didn't even jump. "I still don't believe you," he said stiffly, but Aziraphale knew he'd done his job. And quite frankly, after all that, it didn't give him an entirely satisfactory feeling.

An out of tune voice drifted to their ears, but Crawly didn't even have the incentive to cover his ears. Instead, he started walking faster… and faster…

_Bam._

"Heeey, what'd you do that for?" The drunken Roman general lay sprawled out across the floor, his limbs jutted at unlikely angles. Aziraphale wasn't sure if anything was broken, or if Mark Antony just preferred to relax that way.

"I dunno." Crawly had remained standing, morosely scuffing at the marble below his sandaled feet.

"Gawwwd, you're a downer today!" Antony unsteadily got up, swaying as he grabbed at Crawly to right himself. Crawly didn't move an inch. "I thought you were fun, man! We used to have so much fun!"

"Well, now that you're actually doing something in the government, I thought it would be better if we didn't run around drunk all the time."

Antony pshawed, brushing away Crawly's comment with a swift jerk of his hand. "Just because I do stuff doesn't mean I have to be serious all the time. Come on, you told me that!"

"And now I'm regretting it."

"Seriously! What is up with you today?"

"Antony, are you upset with the lack of democracy in today's system?"

"Um ."

"Democracy. Lack of. Now."

"Yeah. Definitely." Antony stumbled into one of the women that had stepped behind him. "Wait. Huh?"

"Is he drunk again?" Cassius emerged from behind Aziraphale, his lean frame slipping neatly between the slim demon and the pudgy angel.

"Yeah."

The senator sighed with exasperation, roughly heaving the tipping Antony over his shoulder. "I swear to God, Caesar is ruining this empire single-handedly by making him right-hand man."

"No, Anthony's got some good in him. When he isn't fooling around." Crawly leaned over and gave Anthony a friendly pat on the cheek. Antony slung his entire arm around Cassius' head and managed to smack him right back, flashing him a wide, if somewhat alcoholic, smile.

"Hey. Cassius. Do you think Caesar is maybe ruining this place in other ways?"

A quick look of surprise and then suspicion arose across Cassius' face.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean—"

At this moment, Antony promptly and fully slumped onto Cassius and the women following Antony immediately dispersed.

"Do you think Caesar is getting out of hand?"

Cassius gave a slight glance at Aziraphale, and then lowered his voice cautiously, his lips a mere hair from Crawly's ear.

"My answer," he said clearly, "all depends on the simply matter of trust."

Crawly turned his head, his left cheekbone practically leaning against Cassius' right. "I wouldn't be initiating this conversation if I didn't think we thought the same way."

Cassius stayed there for a moment, on his toes, contemplating the consequences of starting anything. For a moment, it almost looked as though he were going to pull back, but just before he stepped away, he murmured almost carelessly, "Follow me. We'll talk."

Aziraphale coughed, like he was completely oblivious as to what was going on. Crawly grinned smugly as he watched as Cassius lugged Antony away.

"Well, I've got a bit of work to attend to. Could you finish that report on the bath pipes?"

"No problem," said Aziraphale.

Cassius, Brutus and Cinna (not the poet) all died after their involvement with the assassination of Caesar. Crawly didn't. First off, it was rather difficult for him to die. Secondly, no one could remember him being there at Caesar's death, or at any meetings concerning the dictator's murder, so there really was no reason for him to die anyway.

And here he was, praising Antony, Lepidus and Octavian (well, he didn't really like Octavian, but Caesar had proclaimed him heir. Also, Octavian didn't particularly like him. For some odd reason, Octavian had voiced his opinion that Crawly had something to do with Caesar's assassination, which was obviously completely and utterly untrue. Completely.

"Heeeey buddy!" Antony slapped him hard on the back, and Crawly returned the gesture. "I've got great news."

"Octavian's dying?"

Antony thought that was pretty funny. Octavian didn't.

"I wish!" He laughed heartily. "No, actually— I'm getting married."

"No shit!"

"And you'll never guess to whom."

"No—"

"Yeah."

"No!"

"Yeah-huh."

"His sister?" Crawly gestured to the bored, haughty man beside Antony.

"Yup." With great pride and a small bit of hesitancy, Antony put his hand around Octavian's shoulder. The smaller, more serious man hardly budged. "I can hardly believe they're related. I mean, Octavia's just great."

Octavian rolled his eyes.

"Soon there'll be little Marks running all around. Told you someone'd get named after me."

"I just can't believe you finally got her to marry you," Crawly marveled.

"Hey, I own the entire East. Can't say no to that." Antony arched an eyebrow and gave a cocky smirk. "I mean, excepting Jerusalem. When I actually get it."

"Thanks for remembering my little town," Crawly said with a smile.

"Well man, it'll be your place." Winking, Antony pulled his triumvirate right down the hall, the serious leader of the West on his right and mild-mannered commander of Africa on his left. Crawly was particularly pleased that Antony had "given" him one of the most valued religious cities in the world. It certainly made Hell happy.

The only thing that would have made this symbolic turnover even better was Aziraphale. Or, to be more precise, Aziraphale's face when he saw the land of God with Crawly. But being an aide to Lepidus had its perks (or drawbacks, for the demon anyway,) and Aziraphale was shipped out to Africa to administer the moment Lepidus stepped into the group of three.

Not like he missed him or anything.

It's just that being the only (fallen) angel watching a whole bunch of humans screw up wasn't quite so much fun without another one watching too. And after all, Antony was pretty good company.

Yes, being in Rome was definitely the time of Crawly's life.

_One year later_

"What?"

"Yup, yup. Just like I said. Cleopatra coming, the whole shebang." Antony downed an entire glass of wine and immediately filled up another. The triumvirate had been working like a charm, but instead of growing laxer, Antony simply got more and more uptight as time went on. "The nerve. I mean, Caesar would still be alive now if he hadn't been associated with that bitch." Just before he was about to pour another swig of liquid down his throat, he stopped jerkily. "I mean. Don't tell anyone I said that, okay?"

Crawly nodded, but his brain didn't seem to be functioning quite correctly. _Honestly? _Egypt had nothing to offer Rome, and to see it back on the map again like this absolutely blew his mind. This shouldn't be happening, but it was. Cleopatra was going to shoulder her way back into the world whether Rome liked it or not.

"I… Well, to be honest, Mark, she's tricky. She's really, really tricky."

"Like… how?"

"She gets what she wants. And she knows how to get it." Crawly wasn't entirely sure why he felt this way, but what the hel… heck. He hadn't been able to talk his mind in a while. "So… just be careful. Do you get my meaning?"

Antony stared blankly. "Um. Maybe when I'm less drunk. But God, I've got to meet her tomorrow. I seriously don't want to do this."

"Well, you're gonna. So get to bed."

"Yes, Mommy."

"Oh shut up. You know I'm usually the extremely irresponsible one?"

"I never would have thought."

Crawly would have smiled if he hadn't have had that horrible feeling that something just wasn't going to turn out right.

_The Next Morning…_

"Did I tell you I didn't want to be here? Because I don't want to be here."

"I hadn't heard." Crawly ruffled Antony's head roughly, causing the ruler to slap him rather hard on the arm. "Ow."

"All right, I'm just going to make a checklist right now." Pompously waving his hand through the air as if writing an official document, Antony cleared his throat loudly. "How to tell if Cleopatra is in town. One, she tries to seduce you. Two, she does. Three, you live together. Four, Egypt takes over Rome. Am I forgetting something?"

"Add in having your babies."

"Okay, that's number four. My God." Antony leaned back, the muscles in his forearms tight and his hands pulled back to reveal the fine, twig-like bones usually hidden underneath his browned and weathered skin. "If she tries to pull the same tricks on me like she did with Caesar, I'm going to…"

"Look. You know better. It's fine." _Just a few more minutes of this constant reassurance, and it'll all be over. Just a few minutes. Once Cleopatra gets in here, embarrasses herself in front of Rome and gets kicked out, everything's back to normal. Maybe Antony and I can kid around every once in a while again._

Well, it seemed his wish was granted a little sooner than he'd thought. At that moment, a dark Egyptian strode in the room, his black brows drawn together in false importance and grandeur. "Egypt wishes the best of mornings to the highly respected and great Marcus Antonius. The honorable Cleopatra Ptolemy of Egypt requests an audience." His voice rattled off the words like a man listing vegetables, and Antony had merely nodded his acquiescence before courier had even begun speaking.

Taking his preemptive gesture as a yes, the Egyptian let open the doors to reveal two men holding up a sagging rug. Antony let out a groan of dismay.

"She's seriously not pulling this again."

Crawly gave a sardonic smile. "I think she is."

"Stab me now," Antony muttered as the men let the bottom of the rug unfurl out, a subtle glance of sweat on their cheeks. It took a few minutes for both Antony and Crawly to realize that it wasn't Cleopatra at all.

"Aziraphale?"

"You know this guy?" Antony quizzically looked up at Crawly, then back to the round, blond man who was scrambling to get up off of the floor.

"Yes. Azirius Fallonius. At your service." The red in his cheeks perfectly matched the sunburn that stretched from his chest to his arms. And Crawly wasn't entirely sure why, but instead of standing behind Antony and laughing uproariously, he pulled Aziraphale into a tight hug. The angel stiffened, then relaxed when he realized that Crawly wasn't planning any pratfalls or backstabs.

"That was a pleasant surprise," he said in his eloquent voice. Crawly gave him a hard pat on the back.

"Well, it's going to stay a surprise. Don't expect that every time I see you or anything." He pulled back, hoping that Antony wouldn't think the less of him. Instead, all he saw was Antony looking a great deal more relaxed than before.

"So working for Cleopatra, huh?"

"Yes. Apparently, when visiting, she took a liking to me, and…" Aziraphale shrugged. "I became a 'gesture of goodwill.' Trust me; it's positively wonderful to be bandied about like that."

"Sounds fantastic."

"Absolutely. I told her that I knew you, and she also had a feeling that Antony wouldn't be quite… well…" Crawly suddenly heard a tongue he hadn't listened to in… well, a couple hundred years. The Greek alpha and gamma washed over him again, and suddenly he found himself aching for those long days with a bottle of wine and a fellow man of Go—well, religion beside him. "Wouldn't be quite receptive to her visits."

"Are you serious?" Antony seemed to have broken out of his dull reverie, pointing animatedly at Crawly. "You speak Greek?"

"Eh. A little."

There was a glint of admiration in Antony's eyes as he shook his head in disbelief. "You know, I think I learn something new about you every day. Never cease to amaze."

Crawly smiled.

And that's when Cleopatra walked in.

When Antony completed almost every single bullet point on his list.

_Five years later_

The silence in the room was stifling. Until that moment, Crawly had never felt quite as helpless on Earth as when he stood watching Antony hold his graying head in his hands, his sturdy shoulders slightly slumped and his jovial, strong eyes start to glean with tears in the candlelight.

"Oh God, I should have…" Antony trailed off, unable to speak any longer. Crawly stayed silent, desperately wanting to add, 'not fallen in love with Cleopatra,' but he couldn't. Not now, anyway.

The door behind them softly clicked shut, and Aziraphale let himself in, trying to avoid his gaze from the pitiful Antony seated in the corner. "Well, I just got a message from Lepidus. He's doing fine in Circeii. He says he didn't… well, he didn't want any of this to happen."

"Did you tell him that I divorced Octavia?"

Aziraphale winced slightly. "Yes. He… um… well, he said something like it was a bad idea. Or something along those lines."

"I knew Octavian was a scumbag," Crawly said stoically. "First he butts Lepidus out of power, and now he's got it in for you."

Antony waved Crawly's accusations aside. "He's a great man. A great general. He just saw opportunity and used it. And I just fed him opportunity over and over and over again."

Suddenly, he stood up, and when Crawly went over to him, concerned, Antony just shook his head. "I've got a fleet lined up at Actium. Cleo's got hers too. I think we'll be starting tomorrow."

"I'm coming with."

"No!" The harshness in his voice surprised Crawly, but instead of calming down, he instead grew close to furious.

"Why are you telling me what to do? Look, I've stood by your side for twenty years; I've been your friend for twenty years, and now you're telling me I _can't help you_?"

Antony's lips tightened, but he didn't say anything back.

"Give me an answer here!"

"I just… I don't…"

"You want to have all the glory or something? Because I promise you, I—"

"Listen! I don't want you to die, okay? Because that's exactly what's going to happen if you're anywhere near me when Octavian beats me to a pulp. Do you understand?"

His breathing was heavy, and his eyes fiercely intense, but underlying desperation clawed beneath his features. Crawly couldn't speak.

"Yeah. So. I'm going." Antony pushed himself past the angel and demon, though Aziraphale thought that the bluntness wasn't anger, but only a means of hiding his face. Just before Anthony had fully exited, however, he paused at the doorway, his back still turned to the two.

"Hey, Crawly… Jerusalem… it's yours now."

"Yeah," he said.

"No, I mean, for real. I procured it a couple months back. Took it from the Hebrews. Conquest of the East is complete." His chin dipped to his neck, the view of the floor all that was in his sight. "And it's yours. For a few days, anyway."

"Antony…"

"Yes?" His head turned, gracing Crawly with the profile of his thick jaw and curly head.

"I think I'm going to pick a first name."

"Finally."

"Antony."

The Roman's eyes lifted off the floor and met Crawly's, and then, with one last grand, full-toothed smile, he gently shut the door and left Crawly and Aziraphale alone with one guttering candle.

"You have Jerusalem?" Aziraphale asked.

"Yup." Of all the expressions he had imagined on the angel's face, this was not one of them.

Crawly stood, watching the candle twist and split on the wick. Aziraphale just shook his head, a horrible look of melancholy etched across his face as he too left, shutting the door with grace and a drift of air that left Crawly in darkness.

_Three days later_

"I'm sorry."

Aziraphale didn't look up.

"Not writing to you the ten years you were in Africa. Not really asking you about Africa. Talking to Antony more than you—"

"All right, that's enough."

"But it's true, isn't it?"

"Yes, that was part of the problem, but personally, I'm more upset by the fact that you were practically dependent on this completely fallible human for the past twenty years," said Aziraphale, although he knew perfectly well this was not why he was upset.

"Not dependent. Well, kind of. He… I dunno. He was my project. He had everything— charm, great military sense… and then… he threw it away." Crawly sighed, rubbing his head. "And I guess, most importantly… he was a friend. A very good friend."

"Oh," said Aziraphale.

"I mean, not that… No. You're still a friend too."

Aziraphale said nothing.

"Aziraphale! I mean, come on. I've known you for what? Four thousand years?"

The angel nodded imperceptibly.

"This is ridiculous. I mean, Antony's dead. And we… well, we've got eternity." He gazed curiously at Aziraphale, whose blue eyes still remained steadfast on the marble floor. "Come on; stay mad at me all you want, but just talk to me like you're not just this blob of grunts and nods, okay? You're my friend. Seriously."

Aziraphale paused for a moment, thinking over Crawly's words. "Maybe," he muttered, but he couldn't suppress that mixed emotion of pride and justification with just a hint of satisfaction. Crawly grinned.

"Um, sirs?" A lackey of Octavian's hovered at the doors, only his head appearing from behind the slightly opened doors. "The right honorable Augustus Caesar would like to see you now."

"If we die… wait. What do we do if we die?"

Aziraphale shrugged. "I suppose we'll find out."

The twin doors ominously opened as the two stepped in, the small, dark man that had so often been in the company of Antony and Lepidus seated upon the throne with a garland wrapped around his head.

"Antony Crawly. Azirius Fallonius."

They both nodded.

"I'm not going to wax on before getting to the point of this conversation. Is that clear?"

They nodded again.

"You were both linked with the two former members of the Triumvirate. I've heard you were both extremely loyal to your respective patrons. I don't punish loyalty."

Aziraphale murmured a soft prayer of thanks under his breath.

"I, however, also know that one of you is unhappy with a one-man ruled Rome."

Crawly swore.

"In all honesty, the easiest thing would be to kill you, which I plan to do in about a week. However, if the two of you were, say, not to be found in that week, I wouldn't want to use up my resources on searching for you. Do you understand?"

They nodded vehemently, and bowing, stepped out the door.

"So," said Aziraphale.

"So," said Crawly.

"I guess we're leaving Rome?"

"Yup."

"You know, I've heard some rumors about a place a bit east of here. Maybe we could stop by. Just for. You know. Fun."

"That sounds like an extraordinarily good idea," said Antony Crawly.


End file.
